A Gross of Bones
by Thnx4theGum
Summary: Lots of little oneshots that deal with all of our favorite Bones characters. Will include B/B and H/A pairings, lots of fluff, and a little angst thrown in for good measure.
1. The List

This is the list I'll be working from. :)

**ABLE EAGER KIND RATIONAL ACCEPTING EASY-GOING **

**LEARNING REALISTIC ACCURATE EFFICIENT LEISURELY **

**REASONABLE ADAPTABLE EMPATHIC ** **LIGHT-HEARTED **

**REFLECTIVE ADVENTUROUS ENERGETIC LIKABLE RELAXED**

**AFFECTIONATE ENTERPRISING LOGICAL RELIABLE ALERT **

**ENTHUSIASTIC LOVABLE RESERVED AMBITIOUS FAIR-MINDED**

**LOVING RESOURCEFUL ARTISTIC FAITHFUL MATURE **

**RESPONSIBLE ASSERTIVE FIT MERRY ROBUST ATTRACTIVE **

**FLEXIBLE METHODICAL SELF-CONTROLLED BOLD FORGIVING **

**METICULOUS SENSIBLE BROAD-MINDED FREE MILD ** **SEXY **

**CALM FRIENDLY MODERATE ** **SINCERE CAPABLE FULFILLED**

**MODEST SOCIABLE CANDID FUNNY NATURAL SPECIAL**

**CAREFUL GENEROUS NEAT SPONTANEOUS CARING GENTLE**

**NON-JUDGMENTAL SPUNKY CAUTIOUS GLAD ** **NURTURING **

**STABLE CHARMING ** **GOOD-NATURED OPEN-MINDED STRONG **

**CHEERFUL GROWING OPTIMISTIC ** **TACTFUL CHILDLIKE**

**HAPPY ORGANIZED TALENTED CLEAR-THINKING HEALTHY**

**ORIGINAL TENACIOUS CLEVER HELPFUL OUTGOING **

**THANKFUL COMPASSIONATE HONEST PATIENT THOROUGH**

**COMPETENT HOPEFUL PEACEFUL** ** TOLERANT CONFIDENT **

**HUMOROUS PERSEVERING TRUSTING CONSCIENTIOUS**

**IDEALISTIC PERSISTENT TRUSTWORTHY CONSIDERATE **

**IMAGINATIVE PLEASANT ** **UNDERSTANDING ** **COOPERATIVE **

**INDEPENDENT POLITE UNINHIBITED COURAGEOUS **

**INDIVIDUALISTIC POSITIVE UNIQUE CREATIVE INDUSTRIOUS**

**PRACTICAL VERSATILE CURIOUS INFORMAL PRECISE WARM**

**DEPENDABLE INGENIOUS PROGRESSIVE WHOLE DETERMINED**

**INTELLIGENT PUNCTUAL WITTY DYNAMIC ** **INVENTIVE **

**QUIET ZANY **


	2. Mature

**In math, a gross equals 144, and murder- at least the type our heroes are involved in- tends to be gross, so it works on both ends.**

**Some of these will be angsty, some fluffy, some just plain fun. For the most part it's not a continuous story, but I may tie a few themes together. Please let me know what you think, because if no one's interested, well, there's no reason to waste my time or yours.**

**Gum :)**

"_Child abuse casts a shadow the length of a lifetime." Herbert Ward_

Mature

It was happening again.

Thirteen year-old Seeley Booth buried himself under his covers, wrapping his pillow around his head in an effort to block out the noise. It was no good though. Through the thin walls of the apartment atop his dad's barber shop, he could hear his parents' argument like they were standing right next to him.

His dad, Seeley could tell, had been out drinking and apparently something wasn't exactly the way he liked it when he'd gotten home, because he had picked a fight with Mom almost immediately. This was pretty much par for the course in the Booth household on a Friday night, but Seeley still didn't like it.

The volume escalated, and he was sure everyone from here to the Vet could hear them, so he slipped out from under the covers and got out of bed. Quietly, so that he wouldn't wake up Jared, he eased open their window and squeezed out of it and onto the awning above the shop's entrance. The city was pulsing with life, but it was preferable to the war being raged inside the apartment, and it soothed him.

The warmth of the awning embraced him as he stretched out on it, even as the cool night air whipped around him. He thought, not for the first time, how easy it would be to shimmy down the drainpipe and disappear into the city.

A sharp slap reached his ears through the open living room window, effectively ending the argument, and he remembered why he stuck around. Friday night fights always led to his mom covering up new bruises Saturday mornings and Seeley needed to be there for her- and for Jared. He wished he was older and stronger and could make his dad take him seriously, but every time he stepped in his dad swatted him away like some pesky fly. Last week the older man had given him three bruised ribs and laughed in Seeley's face after the teenager's voice had cracked while telling his dad to stop.

Sighing heavily, he moved back toward the window. His ribs still ached from the week before, but he had to do something. Maybe one of these weeks his dad would stop or maybe he wouldn't, but Seeley would be damned if he would let him get away with it.


	3. Spontaneous

"_A good and wholesome thing is a little harmless fun in this world; it tones a body up and keeps him human and prevents him from souring." Mark Twain_

Spontaneous

"Bo-ones," his voice boomed through her office as he burst through the doorway without knocking, "Come out, come out wherever you are!"

A quick glance at her desk showed she was not at her computer and the couch looked empty too from where he stood. He'd already ruled out the platform, Angela's office, and Limbo, so he knew she had to be in there somewhere.

Sure enough, as he rounded the couch he found her sitting on the floor; an island in a sea of paperwork.

"There you are," he grinned, flopping down on the floor beside her and earning a frown for his trouble.

"This _is_ my office," she huffed, pulling her papers out from under him.

"Uh huh," he nodded, "And I'm here to liberate you."

She quirked a skeptical eyebrow at him, but he was already on his feet and hauling her to hers.

"Last day of summer, Bones," he told her as she realized what he was doing and started struggling, "Time to get out of the recycled air and live a little. We're gonna bust out of here and have some real fun!"

"Has it every occurred to you that this _is_ fun to me?" she protested, all the while starting to clean up, "That I enjoy taking pride in a job well done? Not to mention it makes no sense to celebrate the end of summer, as we have been working all summer long and are not bound by an academic schedule. "

He ignored her as they finished cleaning the papers off of the floor and herded her out the door despite her subtle, and not-so-subtle, complaints.

"So where are we going?" she wanted to know as soon as they were on their way.

"Hmm?" he pretended not to know what she was talking about.

"You were the one who accosted me," she accused, "I presumed that you had some pre-arranged plans?"

"Yup."

"So are you going to tell me what they are?"

"Nope."

They rode in silence after that, the fumes all but coming out of her ears as she crossed her arms across her chest and glared at him. Eventually, she began to relax, moving her gaze to the passing scenery and away from him.

"Where are we?" she asked a half an hour later.

"Like I said, Bones, it's the last day of summer," he smiled, turning into a field full of parked cars, "And there's no better way to celebrate than a good ol' country fair!"

"A fair?" she gave him a skeptical look as they got out of the SUV and made their way to the entrance.

"Yeah, you know, cool games, fun rides, great food," he slung an arm over her shoulder, steering her.

"I should've known there'd be food involved," she shoved his arm off of her and rolled her eyes, giving just the barest hint of a smile.

"Gotta eat," he shrugged with a lopsided smile.

As they entered the fair, the scent of cotton candy and funnel cake, with just a hint of the axle grease that kept the rides going swept over them and Booth breathed deep, taking it all in. Beside him, he felt Bones relax; so far, so good.

Dinner, they both agreed, was the first order of business and they headed toward the twisting rows of food trailers. Two chilidogs, one limp Caesar salad, a huge cup of fries, and a shared funnel cake later, they emerged, full and ready to explore the rest of the fair.

Since neither one of them was up to riding the rides on a full stomach, they decided to walk around instead. Booth nearly regretted that decision when Bones dragged them over to the 4-H section, but she seemed to be enjoying herself, so he did his best to breathe through his mouth and listen as she went on about the summer that she and Max had spent breeding rabbits. He had to hustle her through the section full of cows when her lecture on the unhealthy nature of consuming red meat started drawing glares and he was the target of her glares when he slapped his hand across her mouth and apologized to a little girl's mom when Bones launched into a discussion on pony play in the horse stables. They both got a good laugh, though, when they saw that the blue ribbon pig's name was Jasper.

As they finally broke free of the animals, Booth headed for the ticket trailer. He had planned on just buying a book of tickets, but the line was just long enough for Bones to do a cost-analysis of ticket prices versus the cost of an all-inclusive wristband and she insisted that the wristband was the way to go. She also refused to let him pay for hers, pointing out that he had already paid for them to get in, and for dinner.

Much to his surprise, Bones proved to be a ride junkie. After the animals, he'd been afraid she'd spend all of their time on the rides lecturing him about the physics that were involved in making them run, or questioning whether or not the rides were safe; instead, she had eagerly gone on every ride he'd suggested, laughing and throwing her head back to let the wind whip around her face. For his own part, he couldn't deny enjoying the feel of her pressed up against him as they whipped around on the Scrambler and he had not complained one iota when she'd grabbed his hand partway through the haunted house, not letting go until long after the ride was over.

After they had ridden all but the kiddie rides, they bought ice cream and headed for the jungle of game trailers. Fierce competition ensued as the partners moved from one game to the next. He was slightly surprised when she beat him at the basketball shoot-out and downright shocked when she got a bulls-eye on her first shot with the air rifles. She was no match for him, though, when it came to throwing baseballs at milk cartons and she didn't even come close to swinging the mallet hard enough to ring the bell where he rang it easily.

In the end they agreed they'd had enough, not because they were out of games, but because they had run out of ways to hold all of the prizes they'd collected along the way. In high spirits they made their way back to the SUV; he wrestled the huge stuffed lion that he planned on giving to Parker into the back seat, while she tried to make a safe place for the three goldfish she'd won.

"Did you have fun, Bones?" he asked, as they walked back to the grounds for the fireworks finale.

"While I still do not understand why it is necessary to celebrate the end of summer," she began, then broke into a smile, "I will admit that this was highly enjoyable."

Their eyes met, electricity crackling between them in the night air. The only thing he was aware of was her, and the fact that the gap between them had narrowed to centimeters. His hand faltered for only a second as he reached out to tuck an errant strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers reveling in the softness of her skin.

A warning bell in the back of his head reminded him that this was Bones, his partner, and that there was a line. Always before he had held back, breaking the contact with some lame excuse or a corny joke, but this time he didn't want to.

"Screw the line," he muttered, closing the final gap between his lips and hers.

They never made it to the fireworks, but they made plenty of their own.


	4. Zany

"_Art is the triumph over chaos." John Cheever_

Zany

Her life had never been anywhere close to the spectrum of normal. She had only the vaguest memories of her mother, who had done little more than give birth and saddle her daughter with a name only Moon Unit and Dweezel Zappa would envy before leaving in search of a life with less responsibility. Dad had explained that her mother was too much of a free spirit to ever be pinned down by marriage and family and he did the best he could to make up for the loss.

Life on the road was all that she knew when she was younger. The boys in the band were her family, guarding their "Pearl" like a precious treasure, but giving her a share in all of the work that went into putting on a show. By the time she was five she could run a sound check and had already been presented with her first pair of cheap sunglasses.

To her dad, she was his "little Angel" and the center of his world. As the band's fame grew and the road became a place no longer appropriate for his growing daughter, he'd sent her to the best schools that money could provide, and had made sure that holidays were reserved for just the two of them. Never once did he seem disappointed that she hadn't followed in his musical footsteps, but instead had funded all of her European excursions and encouraged her to pursue her own flavor of art no matter what the critics said. He'd approved of the name change too.

Stability, though, had eluded her until her path collided with Temperance Brennan's. The unlikely duo had formed a solid friendship and landed Angela a job that she could never have dreamed of, but one that allowed her to indulge her computer hobby as well as her art. Jack Hodgins had joined their little rag tag group, followed by Zack, and together they worked to further Brennan's quest to restore an identity to those who were otherwise unidentifiable.

That quest had been jerked out of the ancient past and into the present with Booth's arrival on the scene. He might not have liked working with squints any more than they wanted to work with him, but he listened to what they said and put it to good use. Over time, the animosity morphed into a grudging respect, and the closer the partners got, the closer the team became as well until their fierce loyalty extended to include Booth as well as Brennan. And the woman who once thought that she would follow in the footsteps of her free-spirited mother had finally found a home.


	5. Talented

**For Bone_Dry, she knows why.**

**Gum**

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"_People think it must be fun to be a super genius, but they don't realize how hard it is to put up with all the idiots in the world."-Calvin and Hobbes_

Talented

His genius was not something that he attempted to flaunt and yet despite his best efforts it seemed to flaunt itself. By the time he was eight months old he could speak in complete sentences, letters coalesced into words a year later, and by three he was climbing up bookshelves to get to the classics.

His parents- for all of their prior experience with child-rearing- were flummoxed with how to handle such a prodigy. His father had worked the same blue-collar job since graduating from high school and his mother, though a voracious reader, was at heart a home maker, not a scholar. Questions abounded the older he became: Should they send him to the local school where at least he would have his siblings to protect him? Keep him at home? Send him away?

In the end, they settled things as they always had; by a family vote. It was decided by all that however his genius came to be it could not be ignored and should be cultivated no matter the cost. The one stipulation was that the school be in Michigan so that he could still be a part of the family's life on weekends and holidays. Careful research was done, interviews were set up, pennies were pinched within an inch of their lives, and somehow they managed the best private school possible.

Unfortunately, they did not take into account that while he was nothing like his brothers and sisters, at least at home he fit in by nature of the familial bond; whereas at school he had no such ties. Teased by those who didn't know better and taunted by those who did, he floundered socially. After several failed attempts to "fit in" as it were- including his successful, yet short-lived attempts at musical theater- he deduced that social niceties were more trouble than they were worth and that he would be better off focusing his energies on his academics.

Breezing through grade school requirements at an accelerated pace he found himself a teenager amongst twenty-somethings. Given the age gap, coupled with his innate need to correct any error in thought that was expressed, he soon found that his social disconnect was even wide at the collegiate level. Still, he excelled in both his anthropology studies as well as applied engineering, and was satisfied with what he was accomplishing. By age twenty he had his Masters degree and had begun work on two separate doctorates.

All of the genius in the world, however, could not necessarily decide his academic fate as a grad student given the human element that was involved in the selection process. He had applied for several positions, selecting the ones that both piqued his interests and satisfied his need to be challenged despite his high IQ, and finally returned to Michigan with his family to await a response.

The first three reply letters he received thanked him politely for his application, but either they did not feel he was the best person suited for it or the position had been filled prior to his application. The fourth would accept him, but only under certain stipulations that had not been given upfront; ones that did not appeal to him and that led to his turning the position down.

The fifth and final letter came on a cold winter's day while his brothers were out hunting and his sisters were baking. Without preamble, he retrieved the mail, neatly opening the envelope as he thought about what its contents might hold. There was no reason that he should not be granted this one, but as he had learned there were no guarantees, either. If he were honest, he would have to admit that of all of the persons he had applied to, this was the one he had hoped would not turn him away. She, like him, was brilliant, and to learn under such a mind would be a privilege, an honor, and precisely the challenge that he sought.

As if it were a bone in need of inspection, he reverently pulled the paper out and began reading. A wide grin spread across his face as its contents became apparent. Of the many applicants she had reviewed, she had chosen him!

That night, the family as a whole celebrated with him, alternately hugging and thumping him to the point where he was concerned for his vertebrae. They didn't fully understand the implications of the position any more than they understood the genius, but it didn't matter because they did understand that all of their sacrifice had not been for naught.

It was late by the time he got to bed, but when he did he carefully slipped the letter back in its envelope for safekeeping, turned off the lights, and dreamed about an auburn-haired woman who would guide him along the final steps to his becoming Dr. Zachary Uriah Addy.


	6. Cooperative

"_Life is partly what we make it, and partly what it is made by the friends we choose." – Tennessee Williams_

Cooperative

As Booth drove his SUV up the long drive to the Hodgins' mansion, Parker in tow, he really hoped he knew what he was getting himself into. Thanks to yet another serial killer, he'd missing getting to take Parker trick-or-treating this year, but yesterday Hodgins had pulled him aside and invited him and Parker out to the mansion tonight.

The only hint that the bug man would give as to what was up was that Parker was to wear his Halloween costume and Booth could wear his if he wanted to. Parker had gone out as Superman with Becca and had done his best before Halloween to convince his dad to go as the Green Lantern. Booth didn't do spandex, but he did come up with the idea of going as Clark Kent, complete with squinty glasses from his ruined party costume, which seemed to meet with Parker's approval. Again, he wondered what they were in for.

Whatever it was that Hodgins had planned, the whole squint squad was in on it. Today, Cam acted like nothing was going on, Sweets kept probing him as to how he felt about not being with Parker for the holiday, Bones had acted obtusely secretive, and Angela kept shuttling Zack from one task to another every time Booth tried to interrogate the kid. For a minute, Booth had seriously considered turning the invitation down, but he could no more deny the squints their fun than he could his own son, so he accepted, praying fervently that whatever they'd cooked up was safe and appropriate for a kid.

The mansion was decorated with pumpkins lining the walkway, and fake spider webs encircling the thick pillars that held up the entryway. Parker raced out of the SUV, cape fluttering in the wind, and was knocking on the door before Booth could stop him.

"Good evening, Master Parker," a thin man with an English accent smiled down at the boy, "Master Bruce has been waiting for you."

Parker gave the man a confused look, then turned to his dad for permission to go in. Booth nodded, getting the reference as soon as he caught sight of the bug man.

"No way," Parker exclaimed, "Is that a _real_ Batman suit, Dr. Jack?"

"That it is," Hodgins told the boy, "Straight from the original TV set."

"Good thing you didn't go for Clooney's," Booth joked, "Just please don't tell me that your butler's name is Alfred?"

"Nah," Hodgins waved a hand, "That's Tim, my barber, but he loves doing the accent thing."

Booth eyed Hodgins' out of control hair and raised an eyebrow, but decided he really didn't want to go there.

"You ready to go trick-or-treating with your dad, Parker?" Hodgins asked, producing a plastic pumpkin.

Parker's head bobbed up and down eagerly.

"Then welcome to my haunted mansion," Hodgins waved theatrically.

"Are you coming with us?" Parker wanted to know.

Hodgins shook his head, "Nope, but I'll see you later on. Just followed the marked path and you won't get lost. Behind each door you'll find someone else to join you on your journey."

"And candy?" Parker bounced up and down.

"Enough to last you 'til Christmas," Hodgins grinned, winking at Booth.

With that, Hodgins waved goodbye and disappeared down the long hallway, which looked like the Halloween department at Wal-Mart had thrown up in it. He had to admit, though, that the "trail"- a series of signs that looked like Angela's handiwork and had been backlit by black lights- was pretty cool and probably looked convincingly creepy to a kid. He was gonna owe the squints big time for this one.

Meanwhile, Parker was tugging on his arm and dragging him to the first marked door. The boy knocked, waiting anxiously to see who was on the other side.

"Dr. Bones!" Parker flung himself at the forensic anthropologist, "Cool costume!"

"Thank you, Parker," she said, readjusting the Lasso of Truth that Parker had knocked loose, "Your costume is a reasonably good facsimile as well, and is your father supposed to be your alter ego?"

"He's not an eagle, Dr. Bones," Parker shook his head, rolling his eyes, "He's Clark Kent, you know, Superman's secret indemnity."

Bones looked like she was about to correct him, so Booth stepped in.

"Got any goodies for us, Bones?" he grinned widely, waggling his eyebrows at her teasingly.

She missed the innuendo, but nodded anyway, retrieving candy from a bowl behind her and putting it in Parker's pumpkin bucket.

"You don't have your gun this time do you?" Booth muttered out of the side of his mouth as Parker went in search of the next marked door.

"Of course not," she scowled, keeping in step with him, "That would be highly irresponsible, and it is not as if this situation calls for it."

"Good," Booth grinned, "'Cause I don't feel like getting shot."

They bickered about the shooting and the snakes and her non-amazonian bracelets until Parker crowed that he'd found the next door.

"Play nice you two," was the first thing Cam said as she answered the door, once again decked out in her Catwoman suit.

She handed Parker more candy, then joined the group as they headed off. The next three doors revealed Zack, dressed like Robin, Sweets, dressed like the Flash, and Angela, dressed as the Black Canary. True to Hodgins word, Parker's bucket was overflowing by the time the group reached the last door.

"To escape the haunted mansion," Hodgins' disembodied voice boomed as they neared the door, "You must pass through the Passage of Doom. Only the bravest of souls will make it out alive!"

Parker's eyes were wide as the door creaked open on its own, revealing nothing but darkness.

"I can do it, Dad," he said bravely, passing off his candy.

"I know you can, Bub," Booth slapped him on the shoulder.

All of the squints but Bones melted into the darkness as he and Parker entered the room, the door slamming shut behind them.

"That was Zack," Bones whispered to him.

Booth shushed her, hoping Parker didn't hear them over the haunting music that was playing. He was grateful that the music was loud, as Bones felt the need to keep a running commentary going at each thing Parker passed. One vat of over-cooked spaghetti, a jar full of peeled grapes, three squints in sheets, and one teaching skeleton later, they had "escaped" into a brightly lit room where Hodgins stood waiting for them.

A table full of food was behind the bug man, with everything from cupcakes to caramel apples just waiting to be eaten. Hodgins presented Parker with an "official" Jeffersonian Justice League medal and Tim the barber took a group picture for them with Booth, Bones, and Parker in the center surrounded by the rest of the squints.

"Thanks, man," Booth offered Hodgins a hand as they headed for the food.

Hodgins shrugged, "It was Dr. B's idea. I just provided the mansion."

Booth eyed his partner, who had reopened the Catwoman/Wonder Woman debate with Cam again, and smiled.

"Dr. Bones is awesome, isn't she, Dad?" Parker asked, bouncing up and down beside him.

"She sure is, Bub," Booth sighed happily, "She sure is."


	7. Informal

**Hello, no, I haven't fallen off the face of the earth, just went on vacation for a bit. I've had time to stockpile a few of these now, though, so look for lots more in the coming weeks.**

**Enjoy,**

**Gum**

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"_You know you're in love when you can't fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams."- Dr. Seuss_

Informal

"So, Sweetie," Angela Montenegro eyed her friend as they sat across the table from one another, "What's going on with you and Agent Hottie?"

Around them the diner thrummed with the cacophony of sounds that was the lunchtime rush, but Dr. Temperance Brennan seemed unaffected as she picked at the salad in front of her.

"If you are inquiring regarding the existence of a sexual relationship between Booth and I, the answer is that there is nothing to discuss," Brennan answered without looking up, "As for his physical health, he continues to improve and the doctors have assured us that his recovery will be complete."

"Well that's a relief," Angela smiled genuinely, "But honestly, Bren, you're saying that despite the fact that you've reorganized your life and have practically moved into his apartment since he got out of the hospital _nothing_ has gone on between the two of you?"

"It _is _true that my working hours are different since I am not currently serving as a consultant for the FBI," Brennan admitted, then frowned, "However, Booth is recovering from major brain surgery, as well as his negative reaction to the anesthesia. Any pursuit of a sexual relationship at this juncture would be inadvisable, not to mention immensely selfish."

"And _after_ he recovers?" the artist prodded.

Brennan shifted uncomfortably in her seat but was saved from answering by the chime of her cell phone.

"That was Booth requesting his food," she said after scanning the text message, "One of the first things to return after the surgery was his insatiable appetite."

The two women exchanged a small smile.

"Go," Angela waved her off, chuckling, "We wouldn't want the poor man starving to death."

"The odds of that occurring given his current diet are highly unlikely," Brennan shook her head, all the while gathering up the extra food she'd ordered earlier for her partner.

"Take good care of him, Bren," Angela gave her a sad smile.

Brennan nodded and left. The entire drive to Booth's apartment, Angela's final question reverberated in her mind. If she were to be honest with herself she would have to admit that her feelings for her partner had shifted dramatically since they first started working together, but she was still unsure as to whether or not that meant that she was willing to enter into a romantic relationship with him or not. There were several factors to consider, not the least of which being that she was wholly uncertain about Booth's feelings on the topic.

When she arrived at his apartment he was waiting for her and eagerly relieved her of the food bags.

"Mmm," he grinned around a mouthful of food, "This is great, Bones!"

She smiled and nodded, still too lost in her own thoughts to respond any further.

"Cat got your tongue, Bones?" he quirked an eyebrow.

"I don't know what that means," she shook her head, cringing slightly at the thought of a cat's sharp claws embedding themselves in her tongue.

"It means," he smiled easily, "That you haven't said a word since you got back from the diner. Are you okay?"

Once again her head bobbed up and down of its own accord, but she couldn't quite meet his gaze.

"Bones," his voice held a soft reproof, though it never rose above a whisper, "Tell me what's wrong."

The food was forgotten and set aside as they instinctively turned toward one another. She studied his face; his eye just as warm as they'd always been despite the long bandage that still covered the part of his scalp where the tumor had been excised. The other half of his hair was just as thick and well-kept as it had always been.

Angela had teased Booth that he would look normal to a one-eyed man and while he'd smiled, he'd also refused to shave it to match to other side. It was, he'd told Brennan privately, his way of motivating himself to make a full recovery and while she didn't understand that, she nonetheless respected him for it.

Slowly, her eyes gravitated to his until she could escape him no longer.

"Who are we?" she asked, searching his face for answers, "Are we friends? Partners? More than partners? Angela seems to think that we should be lovers even though you have never made any overt sexual overtures toward me-"

A finger brushed her lips, silencing her immediately as he leaned forward, closing the gap between them. She felt more than saw his lips crash into hers, his tongue probing for entrance which she gave without a second thought. He captured her face in his hands, then pulled back, breaking the kiss just as her brain caught up to what was taking place.

He looked at her expectantly, a foolish grin dancing along the outskirts of the lips that had just ravished hers.

"That doesn't answer my question," she told him, her voice softer than she'd intended.

"Was it not overtly sexual enough?" he teased, tapping her nose with his finger, "'Cause I can do better."

She batted the finger away and glared at him, but the glare lost its potency as their eyes locked again.

"I'm serious," she insisted.

"So am I," he responded, taking her hand into his own, their fingers weaving together automatically.

For a long moment, neither one of them said anything.

"We are," he started, squeezing her hand as he broke the silence, "Us."

"Us?" it was her turn to raise an eyebrow.

"Yeah, Bones," he nodded, "Some things you just can't put labels on and we're one of them."

"But you wish to engage in a sexual relationship with me?" she thought of the kiss they had just shared, "To be more than mere partners?"

"I want to be your partner," his kissed her, "Your friend," another kiss, "And your lover for the rest of my life," the kiss was longer this time, but he pulled back before she could deepen it, "So whatever that makes us, Bones, that's who we are."

"I usually am opposed to workplace relationships," she informed him, though her voice lacked conviction.

"Our offices are in two separate places," he pointed out.

"I don't want marriage," she warned.

"Monogamy's a good enough start," he pulled her onto his lap, "Though maybe one of these years we'll work up to being engaged to be engaged."

She swatted his shoulder and he pretended that it hurt.

"I may still want a child with you," she admitted.

"When we're ready I'll make the direct deposit myself," he grinned as if indulging in a private joke, "And I'll be there for both of you."

"What if we can't handle it?" visions of all of her past failed relationships flashed through her mind.

"We've managed to survive psycho serial killers and stalkers, not to mention brain surgery and our respective dysfunctional family members," he traced the outline of her jaw tenderly, "I think we can handle whatever else comes our way."

Satisfied for the moment, she allowed herself to rest against his chest, surprised at how the action felt both familiar and new at the same time.

That night there were no grand declarations of love, nor did they transcend the laws of physics. Instead, they curled up in his king size bed and fell asleep, content in the knowledge that whatever came next in their ever-deepening relationship, they would face it together.


	8. Cautious

"_One child abused is one too many." – Gregg Shields_

Cautious

One of the first life lessons you learn is that life is most-often unsure; especially as a ward of the foster care system. From birth you have been in the care of women who are not your mother and at the mercy of men who didn't father you. Somehow you miss what you've never had and yearn for a connection; a sense of security; a family.

Instead, you are either wholly ignored by the adults who have taken you in, or you are used as an outlet for their violent wrath. Your hearing becomes exceptionally acute; listening in the dead of night for footsteps in the hall and bracing yourself for what is to come. The soft thuds of the belt as it hurries through each belt loop- the whistle as it displaces the air around it on its way to carving the familiar pattern on your back- such is your nightly lullaby that serenades you until unconsciousness graciously bears you away.

And then one day your unstable world shifts yet again. Tall, strong men with the letters "F", "B", "I" emblazoned on their chests arrest your guardians. Their countenances are sad and their exchanges whispered as they discuss what is to be done with you. A hospital is selected and there some doctors sew up your wounds, while others try to get you to talk about what you've been through.

Days go by until finally one of the doctors smiles and tells you that you'll be going to a new home soon with some very nice people who are to be your parents. As you've never had a home or parents before you shrug apathetically when the social worked asks you what you think of the new arrangements.

The couple you now live with is older with no children of their own and seem nice, but you shrink back at their touch, knowing that some of the cruelest adults are the ones who try to be kind to you at first. As time goes on, however, their affection continues to be genuine and you begin to lower your guard bit by bit until you no longer tense under their hugs or fear the sound of their footsteps in the dark.

Instead, you learn to sleep peacefully, dreaming that one day you will join the men who rescued you and help other people with scars on their backs know that there _are_ safe havens in this unsure world after all.


	9. Organized

"_There is nothing so annoying as to have two people talking when you're busy interrupting." –Mark Twain_

Organized

"Let's talk organization," Sweets announced, crossing his leg and looking expectantly at the two people in front of him.

"Well," Dr. Brennan looked thoughtful and slightly confused, "I work for the Jeffersonian and Booth for the FBI, but I'm unsure as to what there is to discuss about that aspect of our partnership."

"No, no, Dr. Brennan," Sweets corrected with a chuckle, "I was referring to 'organization' as in the manner in which the two of you arrange the things in your lives into a coherent form. How we structure our lives says volumes about who we really are."

"While I find that last statement utterly preposterous, there is still little to discuss," Brennan shrugged, "I am organized and Booth is not."

"Hey!" Booth chimed in for the first time, with a well-aimed glare at his partner.

"You can't deny it, Booth," she shifted to face him, "The state of your apartment, not to mention the Moosejaw trailer are evidence-"

"I've been meaning to ask about the time you spent in that trailer-" Sweets cut in.

"I told you my clothes _fell_ on the floor," Booth ignored Sweets completely, addressing his partner.

"Once again," her tone was stern, "Don't blame gravity for a-"

"I'm not messy," Booth insisted, looking to Sweets to back him up, "I'm _not_."

"Perhaps the tumor is to blame," Brennan contemplated.

"WHAT?!?" both men exclaimed simultaneously.

"It's possible," she continued calmly, "After all I can clearly recall you keeping a rather neat and well-organized apartment in years past. In fact it is only since you relocated to this new apartment that I've noticed the clutter accumulating to the point it is at now."

"Tessa," Booth mumbled so low Sweets almost missed it.

"I'm sorry, Agent Booth?" the psychologist asked innocently.

"Tessa was the neat one," Booth muttered again with a glare in Sweets' direction, "And since when is it a crime for a guy to spread out in his own place?"

"There's no need to get defensive," Sweets interjected.

"I mean, yeah," Booth ignored Sweets and looked right at his partner, arms waving expressively, "Sure, it's not the cleanest, but it's my place and I like it just the way it is, thank you very much!"

"I wasn't passing judgment on you," Brennan said quickly, "Merely stating a fact: my apartment is, by comparison, much neater and well-kept than yours, thereby suggesting that I am the more organized person."

Sweets opened his mouth to say something but was cut off.

"You live in a museum," Booth accused his partner.

"I do not!" his partner retorted, "In fact I don't spend nearly as much time at the Jeffersonian as I used to thanks to you."

"Hey, you need a curfew, Bones, trust me," Booth pointed a finger at her, "But I was talking about your apartment, not the Jeffersonian."

Sweets stepped in to clarify at Brennan's confused look, "Agent Booth was using sarcasm to convey-"

"My apartment is nothing like the museum," she told Booth.

"It's too clean," her partner grumbled.

"How can something be _too clean_?" she asked, "A room is either clean, or it is not, there is no middle ground, nor is there a superlative form."

Booth shook his head, "An apartment should at _least_ look like somebody lived in it."

"I _do_ live in my apartment, Booth," Brennan rolled her eyes, "My standards of cleanliness are merely higher than yours."

Sweets, realizing that he was getting nowhere fast with the two of them, decided to sit back and enjoy the verbal ping-pong match instead. He listened carefully, noting that while they picked at each other's faults, they weren't attacking one another. In fact, the whole thing was playing out as one convoluted game of one-upmanship; though the psychologist could tell that Booth was holding back at times in deference to Dr. Brennan's inability to pick up on certain nuances.

They were evenly matched though, because where she could not fully discount his more emotional perspective, he couldn't refute the majority of her logic. That by no means stopped Booth from trying and a few times, Sweets could tell by Brennan's body language that she was flustered with Booth, but determined not to let him get to her.

"Hey, Sweets!" a voice broke his reverie, "Earth to Sweets."

"He's sitting right in front of us, Booth," Brennan corrected, "I believe that is proof enough that he still physically resides on the earth."

"Agent Booth meant it as a figure of speech, Dr. Brennan," Sweets began, "Now, let's discuss-"

"Hey, look!" Booth cried, jumping up and offering Brennan his hand, "Time's up. See ya next time, Sweetcheeks!"

"But guys-" Sweets whined.

"You know," Brennan said, swatting Booth's hand aside and rising on her own, "If you have certain goals for these sessions, you should better _organize_ your time so as to meet them. That would say a lot of you as a person."

"Heh, heh," Booth chuckled, "Bones made a funny."

She opened her mouth to retort, but he firmly placed his hand on the small of her lower back and escorted her out of the room, with one last, small wave in Sweets' direction.

Sweets sat back in his chair and grumbled, once again foiled by the unlikely duo.

"That was totally, not cool."


	10. Intelligent

"_What I want is to be needed. What I need is to be indispensable to somebody. Who I need is somebody who will eat up all my free time, my ego, my attention. Someone addicted to me. A mutual addiction."-Chuck Palahniuk_

Intelligent

He knew that she didn't mean it the way that it had sounded, but he'd be lying if he said it didn't hurt a little. To her credit, she'd picked up on the fact that he wasn't thrilled that she'd basically called him an idiot in earshot of their friends and had quickly amended herself. Her amendment wasn't that much better, really, but he tried to convince himself it was the thought that counted.

Two steps forward, one step back. It was a familiar dance between the two of them and every time they took that back step he'd ask himself if it was worth the effort. Only on one occasion had he answered that it was not; and only then because it had cut him to the quick to think that _she_ thought of him as a loser, just like Jared and his old man.

"Booth?" he barely heard her voice in the stillness of the car as he drove her home.

"Yeah, Bones?" he shook off his musings and stole a glance at her.

Their eyes connected and in the darkness he could swear she was blushing.

"Is something wrong?" she asked.

"It's nothing," he tried to assure her.

Her long gaze moved like a scanner over him, taking in every last detail, "You have been uncharacteristically quiet since we left the Founding Fathers, not to mention you have shifted your grip on the steering wheel at least five times, suggesting you are agitated."

"Five times, huh?" he tried to lighten the mood and deflect the question.

"At least," she nodded, then with that pit-bull tenacity, "What's wrong, Booth?"

He pulled into the parking lot at her building and turned off the car. Neither of them moved.

His leg started bouncing nervously.

"If you were hurt by my words earlier tonight, just say so," she blurted out into the silence.

He looked at her stunned and it was her turn to look hurt.

"I'm not the greatest people reader," she smiled sadly, "But I _can_ read _you_ after all of these years. I- I'm not certain what to say to ameliorate the situation, but I am sorry for hurting your feelings."

"That's ameliorating enough for me," he lifted one corner of his mouth, "Hey, don't look so stunned- I took the SATs too, you know."

"I didn't mean to attack you personally," she said, sounding genuinely sorry.

"Yeah, I know, Bones," he assured her, "That's why I said it was nothing."

"But it's not 'nothing' if you are still agitated by it," she argued, "I hate when you deflect like this. Just admit that your feelings were hurt and realize that by doing so, you will not offend me, nor will I think any less of you."

"Okay, okay," he threw his hands up, "Your word usage could've been better tonight, but I'm not some pansy guy who's going to go home and cry in his tea over it. Besides, you tried to fix things and now you've cleared the air so we're good."

She looked at him for a long moment, "Are you familiar with the phrase 'Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me?"

"Yes," he dragged the word out, wondering where she was going now.

"It's not true," she said firmly, "Well- it is true that, given the right force a bone can be broken with both sticks and stones- but it is not true that words will never hurt us. In fact," there was a slight hitch in her voice, "Sometimes words can do greater damage than any physical implement."

He nodded mutely, desperately wanting to lean over and kiss away that sad look on her face, but he held back.

She looked up sharply, "That's why it's important to me that you let me know if I've hurt you with my words. I'm not always aware of it, but I do care."

"I care about you too, Bones," he smiled.

An awkward silence filled the air.

"Would you like to escort me to my apartment?" she asked.

"Scared of the dark, Bones?" he teased.

They shared a smile and she shook her head, "No, but then you won't have to sit out here and wait for my light to go on before you leave."

"Hey," he smiled as they climbed out and headed toward the building, "You do know me."

"I have been under the tutelage of a keen observer for several years now."

"Yeah, Sweets is something else, isn't he?" Booth teased.

She shoved his shoulder, he shoved back, and they laughed. Finally, they reached her door.

"Well," Booth sighed, "Good night, Bones."

"You aren't going to do a security sweep of my apartment before you go?" she teased.

"Nah," he waved a hand, "I'm sure you've got your rocket launcher on you somewhere."

"Yes."

He gave her a short wave and turned to leave.

"Booth?"

He turned around.

"You're a good friend, Booth," she said softly.

She took two steps forward and planted a kiss on his cheek. His head was turning and one corner of her lip touched one corner of his and he stumbled back. Neither one of them said anything, but they didn't have to. They nodded, smiling shyly, and he waved again before turning to leave.

And the dance went on. And he knew it was worth it.


	11. Determined

"_Determination and perseverance move the world; thinking that others will do it for you is a sure way to fail." -Marva Collins_

Determined

From the moment he was pulled from the car he knew he would never fully rest until he found out who had run him down and shoved him in there with Dr. Brennan to die. That was why he had yanked out his IV, grabbed the nearest set of crutches, and hailed a cab to the lab as soon as the docs had finished with him. If it hadn't have been for Angela, he might not have left at all; but she had come and he had gone home with her.

Despite her presence that night and in the nights that followed, the dreams still came. Each time he awoke in the dark, cold sweat gathering on his brow, his resolve to nail the bastard deepened until it became his own private obsession. When he couldn't sleep he would slip out of bed, recording all of the murky details that came with the dreams before they could evaporate.

He had thought- however naively- that the rest of the team would attack the case with the same fervor as he; especially Booth and Dr. B. But they had few leads and more cases kept coming- cases like the Becket/Kirby/Brennan debacle and the escape and subsequent death of Howard Epps. Before he knew it, months had passed and not only had they made no progress, but they'd also stopped investigating the Grave Digger. It frustrated him, but he was powerless to do anything to affect change.

Until the day came when the FBI decided they needed to pack up the evidence that the Jeffersonian had been storing and move it to the Hoover. None of them were happy about it and Jack was the most vocal. He felt the anger smoldering in his chest as he carefully placed each item in the cardboard evidence box under the careful scrutiny of the FBI courier.

When the courier turned her head for a fraction of a second he palmed the vial and slipped it into his lab coat. That night he transferred the vial with the sticker fragment, along with his notes, into a silver, protective case. It could take years before the FBI caught up with him, he guessed. Long enough for him to keep looking. And hopefully long enough for him to ensure that no one else would be buried alive.


	12. Growing

"_Coming together is a beginning. Keeping together is progress. Working together is success." –Henry Ford_

Growing

It started, as so many things do, with one person.

One woman, to be precise, and her singular devotion to giving those long dead back their identities; never once imagining that bone storage held the answer to a question she'd been asking since she was fifteen. From the beginning she'd invited her best friend to join her at her new job and she had been pleasantly surprised when the artist had accepted. Even more surprised when, as the years passed and Angela remained, she'd stuck with it.

Next, she added Jack Hodgins, an extraordinary entomologist with a knack for being able to glean the most information from the smallest of particulates. Her own thorough research on him had made her aware of his ties to the Cantilever group long before his underground confession; however, performance was more important to her than pedigree and he'd never been less than exemplary so she'd never made an issue of it.

Accepting the position at the Jeffersonian, as well as the status that she had achieved in her field, made taking grad students under her proverbial wing a necessary evil. After sifting through several dozen well-qualified applicants, she selected the one whom she thought would be the best "fit" for her team. She found that she enjoyed the parental warmth that came with mentorship and was extremely pleased when Zack proved to be every bit as brilliant as he had purported himself to be.

It took a bit of time, but eventually the four of them learned how to work efficiently with one another. For the most part they performed work for the Jeffersonian; authenticating prehistoric remains, aiding in the research for the museum's displays, and of course, identifying the plethora of remains housed in Limbo. As government employees, they were also called upon at times to aid in national disaster recovery efforts and lend their expertise to federal investigators who were stymied by conventional investigative techniques.

One such investigator was Special Agent Seeley Booth of the Major Crimes Unit, in Washington, DC. They'd worked with Booth a few times before that fateful case when Brennan decided to blackmail said federal agent into giving her full participation in his cases. He'd stuck his neck out for her then, and continued to do so until people at the Bureau stopped questioning him and just went with it. Booth recognized what the squints were capable of despite the fact that they drove him up the wall daily, and he took it to the next level.

Just when they found their stride, however, a new team member was forced upon them. Dr. Camille Saroyan was no slouch when it came to dead bodies, but for as much as she was sent to help the squints make intuitive leaps, she also had a lot to learn when it came to relating to them. Eventually, she recognized that Brennan was the de facto boss and once the two of them learned how to play nice, the rest fell into place.

Somewhere along the way too, Dr. Lance Sweets went from being a casual observer to a card-carrying member of the Booth-Brennan team; though he was more squint than FBI. As it turned out he was a handy profiler and anyone who had any baggage that they wanted to unload was never turned away.

For two years, they had it made, and were working like a well-oiled machine until one of the cogs jumped ship and sent the whole thing straight to the crapper. Zack's betrayal cut deep and in a way made them even more tight-knit than before and his dismissal left a gaping void. But instead of hiring one person, a parade of squinterns stepped up to the plate, each with their own talents and gifts.

So what had started with one person now centered around two and included upwards of twelve. And time passed. And seasons changed. And the center held.


	13. Faithful

"_God save me from my friends – I can protect myself from my enemies." Anonymous Proverb_

Faithful

He didn't do it to be heroic or noble. He didn't do it out of sympathy or compulsion. In fact, at first he hadn't wanted to do it and had debated back and forth with himself as to whether or not it was the right thing; whether or not he could handle it. The longer he weighed the pros and cons the more he wanted to, but something in him still held him back.

The whole situation pissed him off royally when he thought about how it had come to this point. They'd been friends for years; best friends, he had thought. He could close his eyes and picture all of the great times they'd had together, from the debates that they'd get into driving to and from work, to the celebration dinners they'd shared at the diner. All of that was gone now.

A line had been crossed, a deed done that could not be reversed, and they both suffered for it.

Time had passed and he had gone back to work and done his duty, but the void was obvious, sucking all of the passion he'd once had for it and leaving in its place only hurt and anger. There were nights when he would lie awake, blaming himself; but they were both adults, both capable of making their own decisions, and either way, he couldn't do anything to change the outcome now.

In the end, he decided that the time for brooding was over and committed himself to doing what he had avoided all along. The first few times were awkward with so much time and hurt that had come between them, but as the weeks went on the silences were fewer and the conversation more relaxed. Both of them recognized that they could never go back to who they once had been, but they let that go unspoken between them and began again from what they _did _have.

No, he thought as he once again flashed his ID and walked past the guards and into Zack's cell for his weekly visit, this wasn't for Brennan or for Zack or anyone else at the lab. This was for himself- for Jack Hodgins- the man who had everything, but who couldn't stand to lose the closest thing to a brother that he'd ever had.


	14. Fulfilled

"_To love what you do and feel that it matters how could anything be more fun?" Katharine Graham_

Fulfilled

Pathologist is not a career kids normally pick out in grade school, but it was for Camille Saroyan. She'd watched, fascinated, when her fourth grade teacher had dissected an earthworm for the class, edging out the boys so that she could get a better look. Watching the innards ooze out didn't come close to grossing her out and really made her wonder all the more what made the thing work in the first place. From then on, while she had done well all across the board in school, she excelled in science.

Her parents, happy though they were that their daughter had found something productive to pour her energies into, were nevertheless concerned that the teenager's fascination with dead things would turn macabre and when it came time to choose a college, they suggested she go pre-med and consider a career either as a physician or perhaps a surgeon.

Throwing her full energy into the effort, she'd reveled in all of her bio courses, excited to learn exactly what made the human body tick. The further she went along, though, the more she realized that she was much more interested in taking bodies apart to decide what had gone wrong than in putting them back together again.

She'd found out quickly that pathology was not among the more glorified positions, even when one worked for a very well-funded hospital. Even so, she enjoyed the work and kept telling herself that the crappy places were all just stepping stones to get to where she really wanted to be.

And so when she entered the Jeffersonian for the first time, breathing in the purified air and eyeing the equipment that had come from a medical supply place instead of Sears, she knew she'd made it. This was the stuff that dreams were made of and it was all under her command. With all of the bells and whistles available to her, she thought, the rest should be a cakewalk, right?


	15. Candid

"_It has been said, 'time heals all wounds.' I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens, but it is never gone." –Rose F. Kennedy_

Candid

It was Angela's birthday party, but Brennan was the one who found herself crying; whether she wanted to or not.

_**B&B&B&B&B&B**_

_3 hours earlier…_

"Here, taste this," Booth called from behind her.

She turned to find herself face to face with a wooden spoon dripping with spaghetti sauce. The guests were not set to arrive for another half an hour, but Booth was there making fresh pasta and preparing his "world-famous" sauce while she worked on the salad, fresh garlic bread, and everything else that had to be made.

The party had initially been Brennan's idea, but Booth had been the one to suggest that she hold it at her apartment, arguing that with the year that Angela had had, she might enjoy a more intimate party than one at the Founding Fathers. Brennan had countered that copious amounts of alcohol might be just what the artist wanted, but Booth had said just to trust him so she did.

"It's good," she nodded, tasting the sauce, "What is it that I'm tasting besides the basil?"

"Uh uh," Booth shook his head and withdrew the spoon, "That'd be telling."

She put her hands on her hips and glared at him, but he merely turned back to stove, his broad frame effectively blocking her view. Sighing noisily she started working on the salad again.

"You should go get ready to play host," he told her a half an hour later.

"It was _your_ idea to host this at _my_ apartment so perhaps you should be the one to play host," she suggested.

"I'm busy," he smirked, nodding at the stove.

The doorbell rang, curtailing any further argument and she went to answer it. One by one, the guests filed in and she did her best to play the dutiful host. Just when she felt that she would scream if she had to engage in one more inane conversation, Booth announced that dinner was ready.

As much as she had despised making small talk, she could not deny that the food was superb. Compliments were showered on Booth by everyone present and she smiled her own private thanks to him for the pot of meatless sauce he had set aside just for her. Lively conversation bubbled around the table as the meal went on, though Booth banned them from discussing anything work-related.

"Game time!" Angela announced when the last of the dishes were cleared.

Producing a board game called "Cranium" Angela proceeded to divide them into three teams while explaining the rules.

"It's basically 'Trivial Pursuit' meets 'Pictionary,' with a little bit of karaoke thrown in for good measure," she told them, "And whoever can get around the board and into the middle first wins."

The first game was close. Booth and Cam barely edged out Brennan and Angela, with Sweets and Hodgins coming in a distant third. The next game, Hodgins and Brennan teamed up for a win again Cam and Sweets, though Angela and Booth were right on their heels.

After a short break for the cheesecake that Brennan had selected for the occasion, Booth challenged them to another game.

"Me and Bones versus the rest of you squints," were his terms, "Unless, you know, you guys are scared of us."

"Fine, but I get Sweets," Angela accepted, hauling the young psychologist over to sit next to her.

Hodgins and Cam looked at each other and shrugged, then nodded at Booth.

"What if I don't agree?" Brennan asked stubbornly.

"Aw, com' on, Bones, you nearly threw a hissy fit when we weren't paired up the first time," Booth said, patting the seat beside him.

"That was you," she reminded him.

"You know you want to," he taunted.

"Perhaps," she smiled slyly, "Though it would put the others at quite a disadvantage."

He shrugged, "They'll get over it."

"You two are all ego," Angela cut in, "Bring it on!"

Brennan sat down next to her partner and nodded, accepting the challenge.

One of the more fascinating elements of the game to her was that a team's turn was only over once they failed to complete the given task. Angela and Sweets went first, and managed to complete two tasks before failing. Hogins and Cam finished two as well.

"Hope you squints didn't want another turn," Booth crowed boastfully.

A good-natured mutter went around the table, though it seemed that everyone was intrigued as to just how well the partners would perform together. They breezed easily past the first two tasks and were nearly stumped by the third, but pulled it off just before time ran out. The next several spaces that they landed on were attached to word games, which Brennan solved before Booth even had a chance to read the card.

"Okay," Angela shook her head several completed tasks later, "This one's for the win," she read off of the card, "It's a humdinger. One of you will hum the music to the song while the other one tries to guess it."

"Simple," Booth grinned widely.

"I'll hum," Brennan volunteered.

Angela glanced down at the card, then snapped her head back up, her eyes boring into Brennan's, "You don't have to do this."

Brennan snatched the card from her friend and read it. Images assaulted her mind but she shook them off.

"Start the timer," she managed to get out.

Angela looked at her again, but Brennan's steely resolve had taken over and the artist nodded understandingly and started the timer. Closing her eyes, Brennan began humming the all-too-familiar tune, ignoring the involuntary gasps as her colleagues recognized the song.

"I _know_ this one," Booth kept repeating to himself as she continued humming.

Unable to stand the mental onslaught of images, she opened her eyes. Far from helping, it merely brought her partners face into focus and she wasn't sure how much longer her composure would last. Catching his eye she began humming louder and more forcefully, willing him to remember the song so that she could stop.

Understanding dawned in his eyes just as Angela's emotion-laden voice called, "Time." Seconds dragged into an eternity. Sweets opened his mouth to say something and Booth pegged him with a glare that left the young psychologist in no doubt that Booth would shoot him if he said anything. All eyes gravitated to Brennan.

"Sweetie-" Angela was the first to speak.

Before she could go any further, Brennan stood quickly, fleeing to the privacy of her balcony.

_**B&B&B&B&B&B**_

The wind blew, sending a shiver through her and ending the reverie. Her tears had stopped, leaving in their wake a raw ache accompanied by deep humiliation. Turning away from the railing, she realized that she was no longer alone. Wordlessly he opened his arms to her and wordlessly she stepped into them.

Enveloping her like a soft, warm blanket he turned his body, effectively blocking her from the cool wind as well as any curious onlookers inside the apartment. In her bare feet her head reached only the center of his chest, but for once that comforted rather than bothered her.

When he finally ushered her inside, the apartment had been vacated. She separated from him almost immediately and began cleaning up from the night's activities. It felt good to engage in manual labor. To his credit he still said nothing, choosing rather to help her as they moved from one mess to the next.

She had been scrubbing at the same spot on the spaghetti sauce pan when she felt his larger hands cover hers. The pan slipped from her grasp, sinking into the depths of the soapy water and he plucked the scrubbing pad from her other hand. Gently, he dried her hands with a dishtowel.

"Stop," she ordered him, disentangling her hands from his.

"No, Bones," his voice was quiet, but firm.

"I'm fine," she spoke for her own benefit as well as Booth's.

He said nothing, but his eyes told her he wasn't buying it.

"I am," she insisted again.

Spinning out from under his intense gaze she turned again to the pan.

"No," he repeated, moving quickly to intercept her once again, "The pan'll be fine, Bones. We'll be fine."

"I hate this," she threw up her hands, "That you always see me like this! So- so-"

"Human?" he asked softly, "It's okay, Bones."

"No," she shook her head, "It is not _okay_, Booth! If it was _okay_ than I would have been able to give you the clue properly. If it was _okay_ I would not have to be held on my balcony like some helpless child! I would not have to turn to you every single time something goes wrong in my life like a weakling, but rather would have used the last year to recover from-"

"From what?" he prodded.

"From _you_," her head shot up and she began poking him in the chest, "You and your guy hugs, and your sympathy pats, not to mention your incessant need to insert yourself into my personal life all of the time.

"And then what do you do?" she knew she was yelling but was beyond caring, "You stick yourself in front of a bullet, pretend to die, then _miraculously_ reappear and expect me to _thank_ you for it! And just when I start to think that it's okay to trust you again, you start hallucinating and conversing with cartoon characters, which prove to be indicators of a brain tumor."

She stopped and things once again hung unspoken between them. The tumor, the ensuing coma, and his confusion afterward were not things of his choosing, but were factors in her behavior tonight nonetheless.

Confused by her fluctuating emotions and shaken by the night's events, she shoved past him into the living room. If he wanted to, he could follow her and pursue it; otherwise, she would just compartmentalize again and move on as they always did. The choice was up to him.

**(The End- of Part 1)**


	16. Understanding

"_When I say, "I love you," it's not because I want you or because I can't have you. It has nothing to do with me. I love what you are, what you do, how you try. I've seen your kindness and your strength. I've seen the best and the worst of you. And I understand with perfect clarity exactly what you are. You're a hell of a woman." –Joss Whedon_

Understanding

Booth was still trying to figure out how Bones had gone from being upset at herself for breaking down earlier to being mad at him when he realized that she was no longer beside him. With a heavy sigh he started brewing a pot of the strongest coffee he could find; it was going to be a long night.

As the coffee brewed, he cursed his sluggish brain for the umpteenth time. When he had first woken up from the coma, things had been very confusing. He recognized Bones instantly and was thrilled that she was the first thing he saw, but the images from his dream had been so life-like, it had taken him a few minutes to sort out whether she was "Bones" his work partner, or "Bren" his expectant wife. By the time he'd sorted things out, she had rounded up every specialist she could think of, convinced that he had some sort of coma-induced amnesia.

At her insistence the docs had looked him over and declared him mentally competent, though they warned that there always was the chance that his memory would have gaps along the way, given the trauma that his brain had been through. Until tonight the gaps had been few and far between and hadn't been a big deal. Now it was.

Almost as soon as Bones had started humming, he had recognized it as a song that he _should_ know the title to, but that he couldn't quite nail down. The longer she hummed, the more her voice quavered, and the looks on the squints' faces became more and more grim, but he still couldn't connect the tune to the title.

Finally her voice grew louder and more intense and it clicked. In his mind he was back at the Checker Box, watching from the audience as his partner danced and sang on stage, her radiant smile making him feel giddy inside. He remembered taking out his lighter and waving it as she sang about girls just wanting to have fun. And then someone shouted his name, and the shot rang out, and Bones was holding him- the sound of her pleading voice melting as consciousness slipped away.

The sputtering of her coffee maker brought him back to the present. He grabbed the mug she'd gotten for him after his endless complaints that her set was too girly, along with the Smurfs one he'd gotten for her last Christmas and filled them as full as he dared. Leaving only the small light above the stove on, he checked to be sure that the door was locked and headed for the living room. She was curled up in one corner of the couch, head down as if asleep.

"I thought you'd left," she yawned, straightening as he approached.

"Never," he met her keen gaze, offering the coffee.

She took it and he released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, then sat down at the other end of the couch. The silence stretched out, but wasn't nearly as emotionally laden as it had been in the kitchen.

"You shouldn't make promises you cannot keep," her near-whisper boomed in the still apartment.

"I don't intend to," he spoke softly back, pouring every genuine feeling into his eyes.

She nodded sadly, "You are a good man, Booth, but you are neither omniscient, nor omnipotent."

"Guess that makes two of us, eh?" he gave her a lopsided grin.

Her nostrils flared at that, "Don't mock me, Booth!"

"Look," he said gently, "You claim that I'm not all-knowing or all-powerful, Bones, and you're right," he leaned forward and traced her jaw with his fingers, "But you aren't either so it's okay that you get shaken up by things; in fact, I'd be kinda worried if you didn't."

"I wouldn't have been shaken up at all if you hadn't jumped in front of that stupid bullet in the first place," she pulled as far away from him as she could.

"Dead people don't shake easily," he nodded with a smirk, "But don't think I did it totally for you."

Her jaw dropped a few millimeters and she gaped at him, "What do you mean?"

"Ah, Bones," he chuckled softly, tenderly tucking a lock of hair back behind her ear, "I took that bullet because I couldn't stand living in a world without you any more than you could without me."

"So you would do the same thing again should the need arise?" she raised an eyebrow.

"Yep," he nodded, then raised a finger, "With one exception, of course," she raised her other eyebrow and he grinned, "I'd call you myself instead of leaving it up to a shrink."

"Good," she said curtly.

She wrapped her hands around her mug and suddenly grew very interested with its contents, deliberately ignoring him. A year ago- back when they should've had this conversation instead of the shouting match in his bathroom- he had let her go once she'd cooled down. The coma dream, though, had given him a taste of what things could be like between them and after tonight he was ready to take the risk.

"I'm not a heart person like you, Booth" she said before he could figure out how to tell her how he felt without sounding like a lovesick teenager, "I look at the evidence, consider the implications, and act accordingly."

"And what do you see, Bones?"

"For quite some time now, I have observed that there is a level of rapport between us that goes far beyond that of mere partners," she said slowly and precisely, "This relationship- whatever it might be labeled- seems to evoke deep emotions between the two of us given the correct conditions. It has also led us to behave rashly where we otherwise would not have."

"Like jumping in front of a bullet?" he smiled warmly.

"Or stealing a cadaver by illegal means in order to secure pertinent information," she added.

"It hasn't been a good year, has it?" he shook his head with a wry smile.

"No," she agreed, "And while my preference would be for both of us to abstain from scenarios that would place us in mortal peril, that is unlikely given our chosen professions."

"There's always another bad guy."

"Very true," her voice was grim, "And thus we arrive at the crux of matter," she gave him a long look, "The line."

The line; she didn't have to explain any further. It had been haunting them since the day he drew it. It hadn't kept them from caring; hadn't stopped them from breaking the law for each other. All it had done was kept them from being honest about how they really felt about each other.

"We left the line in the dust a long time ago, Bones."

He paused, letting the full meaning of his words set in. A panoply of emotions danced across her face and before he knew it she was on his side of the couch, launching her lips at his. He let her kiss him, at the same time picking her up and setting her firmly on his lap.

The kiss intensified, tasting every bit as good as it had under the mistletoe. Their tongues danced feverishly at first before settling into a rhythm of controlled passion and their mutual love was exchanged in a glance without a single word being spoken. He wasn't sure exactly where he could put his hands without fear of her snapping them off, so he stuck just to holding her against him.

"Mister Booth," her voice was low and sultry as they stopped to get some air. She reached up and released her hair from its loose ponytail, sending it cascading down her back and around her neck, "Do you know what the punishment is for an overdue book?"

He laughed. She winked. And the rest was history.


	17. Assertive

_**16 down, 98 to go :)**_

_"A thorn defends the rose, harming only those who would steal the blossom." –Chinese Proverbs_

Assertive

He should've seen it coming, but he hadn't, and right now it was taking every ounce of self-control that he possessed not to react to the news. Once the other agent turned the corner, Booth found the first place he could trust his legs to get him to and sat down.

He ran his hands through his hair, sucking in air and fighting the urge to put his fist through the nearest wall. Not wanting anyone to ask questions, he quickly stood up and made his way to the elevators. A gawky-looking kid who barely looked old enough to shave let alone be FBI tried to hop on with him, but Booth's cold glare made him back off, stammering that he'd catch the next one.

Booth gave a curt nod as the doors closed and sank back against the back wall as he dropped toward the parking lot. When she'd been in here the last time, did she have any clue what kind of trouble she'd stirred up? Probably not.

She'd probably been all cool and confident, smirking at herself for putting the gang banger in his place. For whatever reason it seemed to be important for her to how the world that she didn't intimidate easily. In fact, there was no doubt in Booth's mind that his partner had _enjoyed_ the fracas and would gladly do it again if given the chance.

Of course, he thought, hopping into his SUC and gripping the steering wheel tightly, it also hadn't crossed her mind that the gang would get ticked and put out a hit on her. They'd make good on it too, he grimaced. They'd send a pack after her, give her a good thrashing, and leave her for dead just like they'd done to Jose. If Booth was lucky, they'd leave a note and dump her in a high-traffic area; if not-well-he wouldn't think about that.

He was half-way home when she called, eagerly informing him about the double funeral she'd paid for and instructing him on where and when to show up. He managed to convince her he'd be there before snapping his phone shut.

As he changed for the funeral, he realized he had three options: warn Bones, tell Cullen, or deal with it himself. If he told Bones, she'd probably go try and pick up where she'd left off. Telling Cullen would just make the other man even more ticked at having to clean up another mess stemming from taking Bones in the field and if he didn't split them up, he'd definitely ground Bones. That meant it was up to him.

From the back of his closet, he grabbed his most intimidating-looking gun, then hopped in one of the beater cars he was working on, and headed for the barrio. The entire way there he mentally replayed memories of all of the good things he and Bones had done together, allowing them to fuel his cool rage. He thought about how he'd feel if anything happened to her. Like a second nature, his mind switched easily into hunter mode as he pulled over to wait. He wasn't out for blood yet, but he wanted to make sure they knew he would be if pushed.

It was later than he'd hoped by the time his target showed up in Booth's rear-view mirror, but he shrugged it off as he left the car and pursued the gang banger on foot. Better to be late to today's funeral, than have to go to hers.


	18. Author's Note

**I'm temporarily putting this fic on ice. Oneshots are great, but can be even better when there are new episodes, so I'll start these back up again come Sept 17****th****. That doesn't mean, however, that I'm hanging up my quill. Quite the opposite, in fact.**

**On Monday, Aug 31****st****, look for "Beyond Blue Eyes", the newest segment of the saga started in "Wonderful World" and continued in "Home." "Behind Blue Eyes" is set a few years after "Wonderful World" and will bring back Maddie, Joey, and Sadie, along with the B&B gang. It is a case fic, complete with angst and fluff and all the things we love in the Bones world.**

**So I invite you to take the weekend to reread "Wonderful World" and "Home", pop in The Who song that matches the new title, and join me back here on Monday for "Behind Blue Eyes" :) **

**I'm really looking forward to it and I hope you are too.**

**Until then,**

**Gum :)**


	19. Loving

**As promised, here's a new oneshot to go along with the new season. I've already got one for "Boot" brewing too.**

**Gum**

* * *

_"Do you want me to tell you something really subversive? Love is everything it's cracked up to be. That's why people are so cynical about it. It really is worth fighting for, being brave for, risking everything for. And the trouble is, if you don't risk anything, you risk even more." -Erica Jong_

Loving

Booth paced the floor of the ER waiting room for the hundredth time, alternately cursing himself for not getting to her before the crazy cult doc could stab her and thanking God that he had gotten there when he did in time to save her.

He couldn't take it any longer and he blew past the nurses with a quick flash of his badge and began hunting her down. She was just hopping down off of one of the beds and the doc who was seeing to her offered his hand to steady her.

"You okay, Bones?" he covered the distance between them quickly, sliding a possessive hand around to rest on _his_ place on her back.

"I'm fine," she assured him, holding up her arm to show him the flesh-colored bandage that now covered the stab wound, "It only took a few stitches."

"Look at that," he grinned, "you can barely see it."

"I've informed Dr. Brennan that she should take the pain medication as needed and refrain from overusing her arm," the doctor addressed Booth directly, "Call right away if she experiences any light-headedness or nausea."

"Got it," Booth said, cutting off Bones' reply and steering her out of the room, "Com' on, Bones, let's go find some friendly furniture for you to rest on."

"I'm perfectly capable walking under my own power," she scolded him, "and it's _you_ who is prone to odd side-effects when taking your medication."

"Yeah, I know," he said, "just, lemme do this, okay?"

She nodded, slowing down so that he could return his hand to her lower back as they walked toward his SUV, "This is not your fault. In fact, if anything you saved me."

"Avalon sent me," he muttered, brushing off the thanks.

"Regardless, I _am_ grateful for your assistance," she gave him a small smile, melting his heart just a tiny bit more.

He regarded her in the yellow glare of the streetlights, thinking that it didn't matter what light she was in, she still looked beautiful to him.

"I-" he started, remembering his conversation with Avalon about the difference between his brain and his heart, but wimping out before he could follow through, "I'm glad you're okay, Bones."

She gave him a long look like she knew he was hiding something but couldn't figure out what it was.

"I am, Booth," she repeated, "I'm fine."

The drive was silent, but it wasn't the awkward kind and soon enough he was dropping her off at her apartment.

"Call me, you know, if you feel lightheaded or anything," he said, standing just outside of her door as she unlocked it.

"I will," she promised.

He gave her a little wave and she waved in return and he headed out to the parking lot. From the SUV he watched as the little shadow he knew was his Bones moved around her apartment and he cursed his cowardice.

The next time they were alone- no matter what happened- he would tell her how he felt. How he really felt. That he loved her. And maybe, just maybe, she would feel the same way too.


	20. Considerate

"_A little consideration, a little thought for others, makes all the difference." – Winnie the Pooh _

Considerate

Dr. Temperance Brennan stepped into the _Paige Turner___bookstore on a mission. Above her head, a soft bell chimed, announcing her presence whether she wanted to or not. The musty scent of aging paper mixed with a hint of vanilla from the candle that burned at the counter filled her lungs, evoking memories of similar boutiques that she had visited around the world. Row upon row of neatly shelved books that had been organized first by genre, then by author, beckoned to her to set aside any personal agenda and plumb their depths.

Plumbing- Booth's plumbing to be specific- was what had brought her here today in the first place, however, and she was singularly determined to complete the task before indulging any of her own whims. Beginning in the self-help section and moving to the home improvement one she hoped that it would be worth the effort. She had scoffed at Sweets' suggestion initially, but the issue did seem very important to Booth and she wished to be a good friend.

Her eyes alighted on the book in question and she smiled smugly. Booth's lackeys had wasted several hours frequenting book retailers across the metro area and it had taken her mere minutes in a shop that no doubt was overlooked by the common passerby. Task complete, she determined that she still had a good deal of time before she was needed at Booth's office, so she could now indulge herself.

Her first stop was the mystery section, where she confirmed that there still were no copies of her book present. Paige, the owner of the small boutique, had assured her the first time she'd shopped here that, in the used book industry, the absence of a book was a good thing and meant that a majority of her readers had chosen to keep their books rather than trade them in for something newer.

Next she moved onto the classics section with a brief sojourn in the reference area to see whether any useful osteology books had come in since her last visit. By the time she needed to leave, she had an armload of books that she had decided to purchase.

"Would you like any of these gift-wrapped, Dr. Brennan," Paige asked as she rung up the selections.

Brennan considered it for a moment, then shook her head, "No thank you and would you please ring this one up separately," she indicated Booth's book.

"Of course," the other woman smiled congenially, tucking the separate receipt into Booth's book, "Would you prefer a separate bag for it as well?"

Nodding, Brennan paid both totals and exited the store, feeling very pleased with the venture's outcome. Now not only would she be enabling Booth to regain a lost skill, but by allowing him to pay for the book himself she would not be drawing undue attention to the monetary disparity that existed between him, nor would she insult his virility.


	21. Confident

"_Don't wait until everything is just right. It will never be perfect. There will always be challenges, obstacles and less than perfect conditions. So what. Get started now. With each step you take, you will grow stronger and stronger, more and more skilled, more and more self-confident and more and more successful."__ – Mark Victor Hansen_

Confident(Cocky)

From the moment he had dumped it unceremoniously on his bed along with the rest of his clothes that he had gone into the hospital with it had been staring at him. He'd double-checked with Cam when she'd dropped him off that it belonged to him and despite the huge smirk of her face, he had to believe that she was telling the truth.

His first thought was, "Why?" He hated chickens in all forms, so to wear one, seemed more than a little strange. Then, of course, there was the obvious phallic reference and he wasn't really sure he wanted people's eyes to be drawn _there_ all of the time; didn't seem like a serious "cop" thing to do. Finding his way back had definitely set his self-confidence back a notch, so it didn't sit well with him that way either.

The odd thing was, that he remembered it being in his coma dream. There, though, he thought it had been better placed. Jared, after all, had always been the more self-assured of the two Booth brothers and putting his sexual prowess on display seemed like something Jared would do too. But then, he also could've sworn that Cam was Jared's partner and that Bren was his wife, so the dream impressions could only get him so far.

The thing had really started eating at him once Bones was back and they were back to solving cases again. At the fountain she'd questioned his lack of garish socks, flashy ties, _the_ belt buckle. Every day after that he'd questioned whether or not he should put it back on. The socks had been easy to go back to, being super comfy on his aching feet, not to mention they made him smile. The ties he wasn't so sure about, but he knew he'd get around to that eventually. The belt buckle, though made him wonder if he still even _was_ the man who used to wear it.

Then came the call about the body on the tracks. He'd called Bones as usual and told her he'd swing by and pick her up on the way to the crime scene. He'd hung up, slid on a gray tie instead of his black one, and once again, the belt buckle had called to him. This time, instead of ignoring it, he picked it up, brushing his fingers against the smooth, cool metal and triggering a firestorm of memories. The ship. Completing the circuit. His rescue. Her graveside gift.

It still made him feel a little uncomfortable and he wasn't sure exactly why he was doing it, but he slipped it on anyway. If it was that important to her that she would replace it, well, he owed it to her to give it a shot. If, that is, she even noticed its return at all.


	22. Accepting

"_The first step toward change is awareness. The second step is acceptance." – Nathaniel Branden_

Accepting

"That," Brennan commented as they sat down across from each other at the diner, "was a very impressive display of your shooting prowess."

He thought of the far more complicated shots he'd made in his sniper days and chuckled, "I qualified."

"Quite impressively," she repeated with an encouraging smile. "You must have practiced."

"Maybe I got lucky," he waggled his eyebrows.

"Because you wished on a gold coin found at the end of a rainbow?" she rolled her eyes.

He smiled, "Maybe. Or maybe it's because you were there with me."

"I'm your friend, Booth," she smiled back, shaking her head, "not a talisman."

"It worked," he grinned, thinking about Gordon Gordon's theory.

"You were less agitated this time," she rationalized, sipping her coffee. "No doubt because of the extra practice."

"Bones," he laughed, "why are you so hung up on the practicing angle?"

He'd been teasing, but he caught the serious look in her eyes just before she ducked her head and became extremely interested in the pock-marked table.

"Hey," he said softly, "is something wrong, Bones?"

She shook her head, still not meeting his eyes and without a second thought he covered her hand with his own on the top of the table.

"The truth?" he coaxed gently.

Slowly, her gaze rose to meet his.

"The truth," she repeated as if gathering courage, "is that since your return you have taken to attributing problems that have nothing to do with your tumor to the tumor, and you ignore the simple solution in favor of the more complex."

"Like the fact that I'm getting older and need more practice sometimes?" he tested her.

"Precisely," she all but sighed in relief.

He leaned in close, putting his elbows on the table and smiled, "I agree."

"You do?"

"Yeah," he nodded, "the shooting thing had nothing to do with my tumor."

There was a triumphant gleam in her eyes and all of the concern he'd read there earlier fled.

"We're the center," she echoed his words from so long ago; squeezing the hand that still lay atop hers.

He squeezed back, "And the center must hold."


	23. Realistic

"_Life is not a problem to be solved, but a reality to be experienced." –Soren Kierkegaard_

Realistic

Brennan sat on her couch, legs extended along its length, and alternated her gaze between the blank document on her laptop and the antique clock on her wall. An hour later the screen was still blank and she finally closed the lid and abandoned all pretense of completing any work, her mind whirring too much with thoughts of far greater import.

Padding into her kitchen she poured herself a glass of wine, then returned to the couch. Sipping it slowly she contemplated the events of the past week; satisfied that another killer had been brought to justice, yet troubled by the decisions she knew her partner would now have to face.

From the moment he had kissed her hand at the diner, she had been drawn to Booth's grandfather. His laid back demeanor set her at ease, charming her with a charisma that she was all too familiar with, and giving her a rare glimpse into one of the greater influences in her own Booth's life. It had been amusing to "gang up" with Hank on her partner and she had enjoyed the time spent with both men over grilled cheese and dominoes.

What she had not anticipated was how deeply Hank's acceptance and trust would extend; certainly never thinking that he would reveal such a dark secret to her. She sipped at the wine again to mask the involuntary shudder that coursed through her every time she let her mind dwell on Hank's words. The night after their conversation, she had suffered a nightmare in which she had attempted to rescue a Parker-sized Booth from being beaten within an inch of his life.

Her sympathies had quickly shifted as the week progressed to more current matters. She could see how incapable of caring for himself Hank was and recognized how difficult it was for both men to come to grips with.

Would Booth truly take a sabbatical in order to care for his grandfather? And if so, how long would he be able to bear the financial and emotional toll?

Not long ago she had told Gordon Wyatt that she was willing to do anything for Booth and certainly if that was the course he took, she would live up to her words. Already, she had decided to offer to spend time with Hank so that Booth would not be burnt out and so that he could spend time with Parker. She was also trying to devise a way to help Booth meet his financial obligations without offending his pride. A very small, selfish part of her wondered what would become of their partnership, but that seemed trivial in view of the larger issues at stake.

Lost in her thoughts, she jumped at soft knocking at her door and immediately went to open it, unsurprised at the person she found on the other side.

"Would you like some?" she offered her partner, lifting her glass of wine as she ushered him in from the hallway.

"Sounds good, Bones," he nodded, shedding his leather jacket and laying it haphazardly over the back of a chair.

By the time she returned to her living room, he had taken off his shoes as well and was sprawled out on her couch, his eyes half closed in sleep. She touched his forearm lightly and handed him his glass, then joined him on the couch as he sat up.

"Is Hank alright?" she asked, wondering if he was here because they had had a falling out.

"What?" his head jerked up, eyes clearing. "Oh, no. He's sleeping back at my apartment and my neighbor's keeping an ear out for him just in case."

"Good," she wasn't certain what else to say.

"Yeah," he agreed and the room slipped into silence as they nursed the wine.

"Is-Are you okay, Booth?" she broached the question keeping her tone as neutral as possible.

"Pops is going back to the home," he told her, avoiding the question.

"Is that good?"

"Yeah, I mean it's what he wants so I guess that's good," the words came out as a sigh.

"Then I'm glad," she offered a small smile.

"He misses his fishing buddy and his, uh, crocheting partner-" a smirk lit Booth's eyes as he shook his head. "Don't ask."

"I won't."

For the first time since entering her apartment he met her eyes, "He asked if you'd go with us to take him back."

"Of course I will," she smiled easily, "I like your grandfather very much."

"He likes you too, Bones," the response was quick, but sincere.

An awkward silence fell again.

"It's good, you know," Booth said finally, "him wanting to go back. I mean I would've taken care of him if he'd wanted to stay but…"

"It will be easier for both of you this way," she finished the thought.

"I would've taken care of him," he repeated.

"I know," she covered his larger hand with hers, squeezing gently. "And Hank knows too."

"Thanks, Bones," he turned his hand over underneath of hers and held onto it.

When they had both finished their wine, he decided he should head back and promised to call her when he figured out what time they were leaving for the nursing home. She walked him to the door as he donned his shoes and jacket, keeping it ajar until he was swallowed up by the elevator at the end of the hall. Turning back inside, she rinsed out the glasses, powered down the computer, and fell asleep confident that she was doing the very best for both Booths that she could.


	24. Dynamic

"_Alone we can do so little; together we can do so much." –Helen Keller_

Dynamic

"Why did Keith Seeger dump Steve Rifton in the grease repository?" Brennan asked her partner, grudgingly allowing him a turn at the game.

"Well," Booth answered, his words punctuated by small grunts as he progressed through the game, "Seeger lives just down the street from the restaurant and he knew he couldn't keep a body around without somebody finding out."

"True, but Rifton was alive when he was thrown in," Brennan wrinkled her nose. "Certainly, he was injured by Seeger's attack but he died drowning in the grease."

"Yeah," Booth's attention was still focused on the game, "angry dads don't use the best common sense. In the end, he just wanted to make sure Rifton wouldn't be around to keep stealing Dougie's glory."

"Still seems a rather harsh form of vindication," she crossed her arms over her chest, all the while observing Booth's technique with the machine.

"Think about it, Bones, not only did the guy take credit for something he didn't do, but the kid was incapable of defending himself, _and_ Rifton and his buddy Ballinger were making money hand over fist." Booth's game ended and he turned to face her, "I'm not trying to justify what Seeger did, but the part of me that's a dad gets it; that's all."

A contemplative silence fell between them.

"Do you have another quarter?" Brennan gestured to the game. "I believe I'm ready to defeat you now."

"You do huh?" Booth's eyebrows rose.

"After observing your technique I believe I have isolated the necessary modulations to my own that are necessary, yes," she held out her hand. "A quarter?"

Booth dug around in his pockets and produced another coin, laying it deliberately in the center of her palm, "Here you go, Ms. Rolex, but you're buying dinner."

"Fine," she sniffed, shouldering past him and adopting the same stance he had taken in front of the machine.

She deposited the quarter in the appropriate slot, selected the female gaming character, and proceeded to grip the joystick. This time, she was prepared for her adversary's attacks and moved deftly to avoid the objects that she had categorized as detrimental during Booth's turn, at the same time calculating the angles necessary to hit the bouncing ball and elude the gorilla's riposte.

Three goals later, her avatar was dealt a fatal blow and she sighed, only to have her breath catch in her throat as Booth's arms encircled her from behind. One hand covered the joystick while the other slipped a quarter in, the cuff of his sleeve brushing her thigh as he did so.

"You need a light touch," his voice was soft in her ear as the game resumed and he gently loosened her grip.

She nodded, neurons firing impulses to her brain that had nothing to do with the screen in front of them. Shoving her body's chemical reactions to Booth's nearness aside, she inhaled deeply and allowed his hand to guide hers, ignoring the scent of his cologne that resulted.

"I understand that it's a simple matter of calculating angles-"

"Shh," the air whooshed past her ear as he cut her off, still helping her move the control stick adroitly. "Don't think, _feel_. Use your instincts."

Watching the screen for an opening, she jerked the joystick down suddenly, crowing with delight as the ball caromed off of her character and around the gorilla's defense. Booth squeezed their free hands together in a congratulatory manner before the game required their focus once again. Minutes ticked by as they continued to score against the machine; the level of difficulty increasing as they advanced.

Brennan recognized the final level when it appeared from the footage she and Angela had watched earlier; a thrill of nervous excitement running through her. Their bodies moved as one, deftly avoiding all of the obstacles until finally the shaft sunk deep in its target and they were done. Exultation and relief flooded her, the celebratory music drowned out by the sensation of his chest heaving in time with hers.

At the game's prompting, Booth entered the letters "BnB" onto the screen and she watched, thrilled as it coalesced into the number one spot on the "High Score" list.

"We," she said, turning around with a smile and finding his face, "make an exceptional team."

He moved his hands from the controls to rest loosely around her waist, his eyes dark and glittering from the exertion.

"The best," he returned her smile, resting his forehead on hers, and for a long moment both of them pretended that the conversation had everything to do with them and nothing to do with murder, or Punky Pong, or being just partners.


	25. Idealistic

"_Life without idealism is empty indeed. We just hope or starve to death." –Pearl S. Buck_

Idealistic

Happiness- the kind that fills you up and never leaves- had always eluded him.

When he was five it had leaked out of him slowly as lips that had smiled and kissed and encouraged him had become dry and cracked from the chemo. Soft hands that had soothed him when he was sad or sick and corrected him when he wrote his "S"s backward or if he forgot how to treat girls became rough and papery and so frail he thought he might break her with a touch. Eyes that had glinted and teased about what she'd hidden in the meatloaf dulled; and after they'd closed for the last time he would listen to the radio for hours just to hear her sing her songs to him over and over again.

It had been beaten out of him in the years that followed her death. Little boys with no mother will be rowdy and their dad drowned his pain in his booze before taking it out on their hides. Some days they were completely ignored and other days they were the focus of all of the rage Dad kept in check at the barber shop. He never thought it would hurt so much when his dad gave up on them, but it had and he was pretty sure he would've killed himself if Pops hadn't taken them in.

The army had taken him and transformed him from boy to man. Teamwork replaced independence and it felt good to be fighting for something. He learned well how to operate within a team and later how to lead one. By the time he got out, though, he was no longer a wide-eyed, optimistic kid, but rather a scarred and soul-weary veteran whose feet would be a daily reminder of the high price freedom came at.

When he was a kid growing up with Pops and Granny, he had dreamed about the great family he would have when he got old enough to fall in love and get married. Instead, he found himself at 33, a reformed gambler, single father with no rights to show for it, and despite making Special Agent quickly, a job that was far from extraordinary.

What happened next was the stuff of legends and fairytales. Boy meets girl, girl blackmails him into letting her into his world, they fight, they find success, they fall in love despite themselves. Five years and a lifetimes' worth of adventures later, he pursues her only to find that she'd been pursuing him too, just in her own way, waiting for a "good reason." She accepts his reasons and offers her love in return.

Happiness is still something that comes and goes through his life. Marriage has all of the thorns that any other bed of roses does and he grudgingly concludes that they will never see eye to eye on certain things. They laugh and cry; fight and make love. She helps him raise his son and gives him a little daughter with her eyes and his charm smile. And in the end he discovers that he doesn't need happiness after all because what he has- what they have uncovered together- is Joy.


	26. Reflective

**It's been a while but I finally found my muse for this again!**

**Gum**

* * *

_"One of the hardest things to teach a child is that the truth is more important than the consequences." –O.A. Battista_

Reflective

When the adrenaline wore off, he stopped pacing and sat far enough in the shadows so as not to be seen, but close enough to see everything. He nodded his head at one of the passing spooks to move along and smirked when the man did so. Sure, the might've taken him down when he'd first come in, but he'd earned their respect with his two shots.

No one but the spooks- and possibly Cam- had recognized the skills he'd put on display; how deadly accurate his aim had been. He'd felt the weight of the suited gazes and the grudging respect they now showed. The squints- on the other hand- were way too wrapped up in proving whose bones they were identifying to focus long on his shooting. It'd stung more than a little when they'd started dismissing things they had no _clue_ about outside of their pristine lab.

He watched as White approached Cam and Bones, no doubt to announce he was shutting down the whole investigation. He heard the defiance in his partner's voice and knew she wouldn't be handing anything over until she had what she was looking for. Even as White and the others left, she bent back over the remains, studying them closely.

"Having a good sulk, Seeley?" an all-too familiar voice interrupted his thoughts.

"What do you want from me, Camille?" he asked, never taking his eyes off of Bones.

"Some adult behavior would be a good start," she sat down on the catwalk beside him, "Though at this point I'd settle for some good stall tactics."

He grunted in response, continuing his silent vigil.

"Look," she put a hand on his arm, "I don't pretend to know what the two of you were arguing about, but I do know that this case is way bigger than any one person in this lab."

"She doesn't get it, Cam," he shook his head in frustration. "None of them do."

"Maybe not Sweets, or Hodgins, or Angela," she agreed, "But Dr. Brennan? You _know_ she's faced the same horrors we have first-hand; or at the very least seen their after-effects. Corrupt governments aren't a stretch for her."

"This one should be!" the metal railing reverberated where his hand struck it. "We're better than that!"

"O-kay," she held up her hands, "let's step back from that ledge and think about what's really going on here. Do you know what she's doing down there?"

"Proving Hodgins is right," the sulk was back in his voice but he didn't care.

"Come on, Big Man, you know better than that," his old friend admonished. "Dr. Brennan has one motive and one motive only."

"The truth," Booth finally muttered.

"The truth," she confirmed. "Would you seriously ask her to set that aside just so you can _feel_ better?"

She let the question hang between them; for once not pressing for an answer.

"Well," she stood after a few moments, "I have some more people to motivate in the right direction and maybe give these guys a run for their money. You decide you want a piece of that action- well- you know where to find us."

He watched her head down and enter the room where the squints had gathered, absorbing everything she'd said. As he watched the squints scatter once again he realized she was right.

"Okay," he said to himself, waving casually to the spooks as he took the stairs two at a time, "time for the fun to start."


	27. Reliable

"_Don't rely too much on labels, for too often they are fables." –Charles H. Spurgeon_

Reliable

It had been a week since their last case, but that didn't mean she wasn't busy. In fact, she'd gotten to work early and spent several hours in Limbo before she determined it was time to get started on her office work. Still, she couldn't deny the small smile on the corner of her lips as she peered at the caller ID box on her ringing phone.

"What do you need, Booth?" she pretended to be preoccupied so as not to seem too eager, "I'm quite busy this morning."

"Well, stop whatever it is because we have a case," he told her.

Deep below her calm exterior, her anticipation bloomed into a rush of excitement, though it quickly occurred to her, "If we have a case, why aren't you here?"

"The Bureau took my wheels," he pouted.

"What?" her attention was suddenly focused solely on the call. "Were you fired? Are you sick? Did you shoot another clown? Because really, Booth, you need to stop discharging your firearm at inanimate ob-"

"I wasn't fired, I'm feeling just fine, and no clowns- live or fake- have been harmed," amusement colored his tone as he interrupted her. "They don't give cases to agents who are in trouble you know?"

"Yes," she composed herself and squashed the irrational fears that had arisen, "of course. I should have deduced as much, however, I'm still at a loss to understand why you are currently without your, 'wheels.'"

"Hm," he hesitated. "You know how they got a contract with Toyota a while back?"

"Yes."

"Well, now there's this thing with all of the recalls and stuff so I guess they need to make sure that we're not going to play Keanu Reeves anytime soon," he sounded irritated by the inconvenience.

"I'm not sure what that means on either count," she admitted.

"The recalls were all over the news, Bones, if you'd bother to watch," he chuckled, "and we're watching _Speed_ this weekend."

"If you insist," she shrugged. "Would you like me to pick you up or will you be taking a cab to the crime scene and meeting me there?"

"FBI agents don't take _cabs_ to crime scenes," he informed her.

"Then I will be picking you up shortly," she said, gathering her kit. "Unless of course you feel the gravity of your FBI presence will be compromised by the presence of my new Prius?"

"Bones," his tone grew longsuffering, "just get over here so that we can get to the scene before I have to start collecting Social Security."

She turned off the lights to her office and headed for the parking garage, "You were the one who complained about that the first time my publisher gave me a car, Booth."

"Yeah, well, a Prius isn't exactly a sports car now is it?" he asked.

"I'm leaving now, Booth," she ignored his question, "I will see you shortly."

______

The Devil in the Details

______

It was relatively early when they finished at the diner.

"Wanna walk around a little?" Booth asked as they stepped outside, proffering his elbow.

She nodded, linking her arm with his as they set off down the sidewalk. For a while, neither of them said anything, but simply enjoyed each other's company.

"So," he broke the silence with a teasing voice, "the publisher gave you another car, eh Ms. Rolex?"

"Yes," she gave him a slight nudge with her shoulder. "For your information my book is coming out soon and they are anticipating record sales. Several thousand copies have been reserved on Amazon already."

"Ships the 29th and hits bookstores at home and abroad on April Fools' Day," he smiled knowingly. She arched an eyebrow and he explained, "Hey, I wanna know what going to happen to me too. That last one was a doozy of a cliffhanger."

"For the last time, Booth," she shook her head reprovingly, "You are _not_ Andy Lister!"

"You just keep telling yourself that, Bones," his charm smile was in full force. "Hey, look," he pointed at one of the televisions in the shop window they were passing, "it's your car."

Her proud smile was only temporary as the words "recall" flashed onto the screen, followed by a woman's account of how she barely managed to avoid certain death when the car malfunctioned.

"Well," Booth said beside her, "guess we'll be taking a cab today after all."


End file.
